see!"

"That's more of your oily Tuscan talk," growled Luigi. "Think of the
risk we run! If the ragazzini should be recognised, it would go hard
with us. Their parents will lay every trap to catch us. It is safe
enough in these mountain villages, but in the larger towns it will be a
different story. There are the police--"

Carlotta interrupted him. "Che, che!" she cried. "You have the heart
of a chicken! I tell you, even their own mother would hardly know them
now, and it will be easy to hide them in Venice. We shall be like rats
in the walls of a house, where the cat cannot follow. As for traps--we
are too sharp for them. Even if we were to be seen and tracked, they
will not seek donkeys and a van in Venice, where there are no such
things."

Luigi only grunted for reply, and Carlotta, seeing that her arguments
had made an impression, boldly finished her plan.

"When we reach the coast," she said, "you remain behind to sell the van,
and I will go on to Venice with the ragazzini. We shall not be pursued
upon the boat. Courage! In a few days we shall be safe, and then we
can live at ease, and you will say, `Ah, what a great head has my
Carlotta!'"

There was no reply from Luigi, and soon the children heard their
returning footfalls on the stone flagging.

"Pretend you're asleep," whispered Beppo. "We mustn't let them think we
overheard." They instantly lay down in the straw again, and when
Carlotta came to the back of the van a moment later, she was obliged to
call twice before she could arouse them!

While Carlotta, looking very glum, was cooking the everlasting polenta,
the children crept fearsomely into the ruined tower to take a last look
at poor old Ugolone. There he lay on the flag-stones, a shapeless lump
of fur, and a little later Luigi skinned him, hung the pelt on the back
of the van, and, leaving the bones to whiten where they lay, set forth
once more upon the road. From this time on things grew harder and
harder for the unhappy children. Carlotta was caressing and smooth in
her manner to them when they were in the villages, calling them "my
children," "carissimi," which means "dearest," and other tender names,
but when they were by themselves she grew more and more harsh, while
Luigi was sullen, and scarcely spoke to them at all.

It was Carlotta who made them dance until they were ready to drop with
fatigue, and sing when their hearts were breaking. Everywhere the
people though